At the first service of the Latin American Pastors Meetings, Steph cried. She said it was just so beautiful to be surrounded by church family again, and the singing made her long for heaven. I didn’t say anything because I found something stuck in my throat just then.
The meetings were like reaching an oasis after a long journey through the desert. Steph and I didn’t spend much time talking to each other those days because we were so busy fellowshipping with new and old friends, but we enjoyed swapping stories each night before bed. Meetings such as these serve a valuable role for the church. I’m grateful we could go and for all who made it possible. It was the first time Steph was able to join me, but I hope she’ll be able to in the future; it was much more fun with her.
The two main places we visited afterward were the church in Novillero and the church in Santa Rosita. Steph and I tried to remain open to both places, asking God to direct us to where He wanted us to go, but we simply fell in love with Santa Rosita.
Novillero in up in the mountains at over 8,000 feet, I believe. It was quite similar to here in the Andes, which means it was a bit cool—not as cold as we get at 11,000 feet elevation, but cool enough. We quite enjoyed our time with the brothers there. They had a special service Sunday morning with a group of high school graduates from Virginia giving a program and a couple other sister churches joining. I shared the morning sermon in both English and Spanish. The crowd was quite large. They served everyone lunch, and there may have been twelve baskets full of leftovers, but I didn’t verify.
The Novillero brothers made no secret that they wanted us to move there. We had some stimulating conversations, and we hope to see them again. They do have a need for a local pastor, and our heart goes out to them. Please pray for them as the Lord brings them to mind.
The Andrew Crider family offered to take us up to Santa Rosita. I think the drive was around thirteen hours from Guatemala City. The time went by pretty quickly, filled in with plenty of chatting. To get to Santa Rosita, you must cross the river at El Naranjo on a ferry. The big ferry was unavailable when we arrived, so we took a small ferry across. That was an unnerving feeling, being so low in the river while still in a van.
After bumping back the gravel road another forty-five minutes, we came to Santa Rosita and met Jonny and Sheryl Bear, the pastoring couple. I’m thankful that we seemed to hit it off pretty good on our part; we hope they thought so too. The big house sits right next to the river. Elevation is something like 75 feet, which by my calculations, is much lower than the Andes. It is a hot, tropical climate.
We visited most of the church families, helped with children’s class, got in a couple church services, and more. I was glad we could help with a few work projects because I wanted to see if I would overheat, but it went pretty well. Granted, we weren’t there at the hottest time of the year, which I think is in May. Jonny’s were excellent hosts, sacrificing their time to cart us here and there. We learned to know the village a bit and even the town of El Naranjo where a lot of the shopping is done.
The ladies went swimming a time or so, and we men did too. The younger men went hunting agulators and fishing fishes, but I didn’t join them. They do a fair amount of travel via the river, which was equal parts terrifying and thrilling for Steph and Abbey.
I shared a message on Sunday, but in all the hundreds of sermons I have preached, that morning was by far the hardest I can recall. I was nervous and excited and hot and sweaty, and I brought the wrong notes. I generally type out my sermons in full, which I’ve been told is either the best or absolute worst way to do it. Well, it felt rather worst that morning when I couldn’t think what I was supposed to say. I had some English notes, but they were some preliminary ones, not the final message. So I stumbled along from there and said something, and I pray the Lord used it for some good beyond scaring the geckos away.
Somehow, it was that sermon that clinched the decision for me. Of course, Steph and I needed to talk and pray more, but we both felt the Lord leading us to Santa Rosita. Stumbling around in that sermon, I felt so helpless and lost. For me, it seemed the Lord was saying, “Without Me, you can do nothing.” Yet it wasn’t condemning; just a reminder that this move must be done for Him and with His power.
We have officially been accepted to move to Santa Rosita, Lord enabling, in September.
Juan David 